


Cold Inside

by StarryFIF2



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Deaf Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inaccurate descriptions of sign language, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:22:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23982268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryFIF2/pseuds/StarryFIF2
Summary: Winter leaves Dean feeling alone and isolated, and it doesn't help that he can't hear. Thankfully Sam's around to help.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 52





	Cold Inside

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my Livejournal on February 17, 2012 for a prompt on the Livejournal community Hoodie_Time. Slightly expanded upon and cleaned up as best as I could. Posted for posterity sake as I'm going to be deleting my Livejournal.

Dean has never felt as lonely as he does right now as he watches Sammy interview two young girls. Sam's face is open and his eyes bright as he talks to them. The girls, for their part, are giggling and flirting as they tell their story.  
  
Dean, trapped in his world of silence, feels left out. He could talk to the girls, but he refuses to embarrass himself or Sammy. Dean can't hear how loud he's talking, has trouble controlling the volume of his voice when he can't freakin' hear it. So, he keeps his mouth stubbornly shut, and watches his brother speak.  
  
He can't stop the jealousy churning and scraping his stomach like shards of broken glass. He knows Sammy doesn't mean to exclude him, doesn't mean to be, well, himself. He can't help that Dean can't hear anything. It's not his fault Dean feels this way.  
  
Dean knows this.  
  
Sam shifts once, subtly, and presses his shoulder against Dean's for a brief second that feels like an eternity to Dean. His eyes, as they meet Dean’s, are warm and full of love, before his brother turns his attention back to the girls.  
  
The world rights itself, and Dean lets go of the negativity.  
  
(((___)))  
  
“You know I didn't forget about you, right?” Sam asks as they walk back to the Impala. Dean nods his head and shakes his hands. He blows onto his reddened skin, trying to get feeling back into his tingling fingers. Sam shakes his head as he catches sight of the state of Dean's hands. “I gave you gloves so your hands wouldn't freeze.”  
  
Dean glares. _You know I won't wear those until I absolutely have to, Sammy. Fucking girly gloves._  
  
Sam snorts and makes sure he taps Dean's shoulder so his brother knows he's talking and can turn to see his lips as he talks. “You won't be saying that when your fingers freeze and fall off.”  
  
Dean snorts. _I'm doing just fine._ Sam stops for a second and Dean stops as well and turns so he's facing his brother and can see his lips form his words.  
  
He hates this time of the year, how isolated he feels. Sam knows, as much as Dean tries and hides it, how much the cold weather affects not only Dean's mood, but his fingers as well, makes his signing slow and awkward and clumsy as his fingers stumble to form the necessary signs.  
  
The natural loneliness and isolation Dean feels from being deaf is magnified tenfold during the coldest months of the year. It's like the fact that the only one he can communicate with freely and without any awkwardness is suddenly a bad thing. It's like Dean forgets how fucking grateful he is for Sammy and all he's done, and it disappears under a giant sea of anger and self-loathing all directed towards himself.  
  
Never mind that Dean's still alive, again, and he survived Hell. It doesn't matter that the fever that took his hearing when he was twelve isn't the worst thing that happened to him, that Dean got through it, he learned sign language and how to read lips, and Sam did the same. Dean forgets all that.  
  
He's an ungrateful fuck, and winter brings that all to the forefront of his mind.  
  
Dean startles out of his thoughts when he's suddenly pressed against a warm body. He sighs when he feels lips brush against his cheek, quick and fleeting as the brush of a butterfly's wing and then gone just as fast.  
  
Sam's long fingers press almost viciously against the meat of his shoulders. _Stop it!_ Sam's nails dig into his skin. _I know what you're thinking. I'm here._  
  
Dean exhales hard and presses his head against Sam's neck. He allows himself one moment of weakness to bask against the warmth of Sammy's body before he inhales deeply. The crisp February air is strong and bracing in his nose.

He mouths his answer against Sam's neck. “I'll try.”  
  
Sam steps away from Dean and gives him a small smile before he resumes walking. Dean follows his brother after a long moment. Sam doesn't try to draw Dean into any more conversations, and Dean doesn't offer any. The silence still somehow manages to be comfortable, and for this moment in time, Dean is content.  
  
(((____)))  
  
That night Dean dreams of falling snow, his breath white in the air in front of him. He can feel his chest expand with the force of his breaths as he runs through a forest, branches leaving stinging slaps of fire against his bare arms as he barrels through them. Dean isn't sure what he's looking for, but he's desperate to find it. Maybe he's looking for Sammy, maybe he isn't. His ears feel empty and aching where both the sound of his footsteps crunching in the snow and his gasping breaths should ring.  
  
His footprints are deep and leave bleeding red imprints behind him in the crisp snow.  
  
He doesn't find what's he's looking for.  
  
Dean still wakes up screaming for his brother.  
  
Dean, of course, can't hear what Sam's saying as his brother pulls Dean into his arms, but he can feel the hot gasps of breath Sam presses into his cheek, along with the way Sam's fingers shake against his skin.  
  
 _What happened? More nightmares?_ Sam signs shakily against Dean's arm.  
  
Dean shakes his head, a quick negative. _More winter crap, Sammy._ Dean explains, his fingers sloppy with nerves. He presses his digits hard into the first patch of skin he can reach, Sam's stomach. _It messes with my head._  
  
 _I know_ , Sam signs, his words a soothing balm to Dean's aching soul. _I'm here._  
  
(((___))))  
  
Four nights later it is Hell, live and in living, painful, flaming color, that has Dean awake and screaming, and the pain and hatred Dean has for himself has nothing to do with the isolation winter brings. Instead it all has to do with how Hell broke him and how Alastair had him carving into weeping, pathetic souls.  
  
Sam soothes away his pain with kisses mouthed wherever he can reach; under Dean’s eyes, his cheeks, nose, earlobes, and finally, finally, Dean’s lips. Sam breathes _I'm here; I won't ever leave you._ Repeatedly until Dean’s shaking stops.  
  
(((___)))  
  
Sam convinces Dean to drive to Michigan for a hunt to take care of a coven of witches. Dean doesn't want to go because 1) fucking witches, and 2) it's Michigan **in the middle of winter** , where it's going to be 10 degrees top, and Dean will have no choice but to wear gloves or risk having his fingers freeze right the fuck off.  
  
It's really not a hard decision. People are dying, and Dean can't turn his back on them, no matter how much he hates winter and the necessary apparel that comes with the frigid temperatures. Sam will be there, of course, and Sam will be his voice, just like he's been all these years.  
  
Dean still turns the speakers up loud and blasts Led Zeppelin even though he can't hear the music he once (still) loved. He smiles at the curse he can read on his brother's lips, and at his classic bitch face. He may not be able to hear, but that doesn’t mean he can’t still annoy his little brother.  
  
(((___)))  
  
Some random person stops Dean on the sidewalk and asks for change while Dean's walking back to the Impala. Sam's six or seven steps ahead of Dean, his cellphone in hand, talking to Bobby about the case. Dean's mouth opens and closes helplessly, and the man, bearded and kind of crazy looking, pushes Dean back a few steps, anger and impatience coming off him in waves.  
  
Dean finally settles on a smile and pats his pockets down, trying to feel through his thick gloves which one holds the two dimes and the quarter he threw in his pocket earlier. His fingers get stuck when he tries to force them in to gather the change. His glove stays behind as he draws his hand back.  
  
A finger jabs suddenly into his line of sight and startles Dean. Crazy guy is giving Dean an annoyed look, and Dean frowns, confused. He fumbles his glove back on. The man turns his head and Dean can't tell if he's speaking, **he can't hear** , and that fucking isolated feeling Dean almost forgot about, because Sam is with him and makes everything better, suddenly bursts like a water balloon inside his stomach and drenches his insides with icy dread.  
  
“Look, forget about it,” Crazy guy says, his face, and more importantly lips, back in Dean's line of sight. “I don't have the time to watch you fumble around like a fool.”  
  
 _Hey! Screw you, man!_ Dean signs, angry and nettled, but crazy guy can't see his fingers through the thick woolen gloves, and only sees what looks like Dean aimlessly waving his hands.  
  
Crazy guy gives him a look like Dean's a leper or something, and turns his back after he mutters (or maybe yells?) an expletive. He stalks off only to be stopped by Sam shoving him backwards a few steps, his face red with both anger and cold.  
  
Dean watches, feels his heart soar with love and admiration, as Sam scares the crap out of crazy guy before he finally lets him go with one last shove. Crazy guy practically runs away.  
  
Sam is by Dean's side in seconds, his hand resting heavy and warm and entitled on Dean's shoulder. “Are you okay?” Sam asks, forming his words carefully in between his chattering teeth. Dean sympathizes, it's really fucking cold out here.  
  
“Nothing a cup of hot cocoa, or some whiskey can't cure.” Dean whispers. Or he hopes he does, at least. Volume control is difficult for him. There's no one on the street, though, so he tries not to worry.  
  
Sam smiles and taps Dean's shoulder twice, their agreed-on signal that Dean needs to lower his voice. “I'm sorry I wasn't there, Dean. I shouldn't have left you to deal with that guy.”  
  
Dean frowns and draws back from Sam, both because of Sam's words and because of embarrassment that he once again is making a fool of himself. Damn winter and the bitter coldness that makes wearing gloves necessary. “I'm not a baby, Sammy.”  
  
“I know you're not. It's just, I know how hard this is for you.”  
  
Dean exhales and motions to his baby. “Let's just get back to the motel room and forget this ever happened. We are getting dangerously close to caring and sharing, Sam.”  
  
Sam laughs. “Tomorrow I should have this case all wrapped up, and we can kill those witches.”  
  
Dean leans against the passenger side door and grins, wide and carefree. “Yeehaw.”  
  
(((___)))  
  
They do in fact kill the witches the following morning. They leave Michigan and its frigid temperature behind, and Dean is grateful. He's even more grateful when Sam makes sure the next hunt is somewhere warm, where Dean doesn't need to wear thick gloves.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a Tumblr [here](http://starryfif2.tumblr.com/) should you feel like taking a look.


End file.
